


Hunger

by Ringshadow



Series: Joker's a Thirsty Bitch. [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batjokes, Joker can keep a secret sometimes, M/M, Metropolis is gauche, Possessive Joker, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, businessman Joker, but seriously what's in Superman's pants, inappropriate road trip vehicles, mob Joker, no angst here seriously just relax and enjoy, shopping trips, very very tolerant Batman, weird gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: Maybe this was inevitable but mostly Joker's tired of waiting.





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Uh so to be clear this isn't set in any particular DC verse. This is just pulling off all the Batman stuff I've consumed over the years, mainly Animated but it's not entirely in that canon either. My mental image for Joker in this oscillated between the cosplayer Harley's Joker and John Doe of Telltale (even if this has nothing to do with Telltale).
> 
> ANYWAYS. Maybe now I have Batjokes off my chest and can get to a brazillion unfinished Avengers fics who knows??

The Joker was in an excellent mood for a week after he stole a kiss from the Batman, and the entire city of Gotham rocked with that. The Joker was always mercurial with his highs and lows, and he was riding a blazing high that showed in every move, every choice. But, there were no heists, no civilian involvement at all, all the damage was concentrated in-house, so to speak. A gangland turf war started and ended in fire, barely-alive opposition dumped at the doorstep of the cops with a scribbled note of ‘Hi Bats’ on a Joker card. He raked in fresh funds, solidified his position, and generally walked around in public in his territory without fear, grinning at cops and security cameras alike.

 

_You know where I am, Bats._

 

But the Bat was radio silent. Mostly. The Joker had seen him on a rooftop, the fearsome silhouette with a fluttering cape, watching the gangland fight but not intervening, eventually just disappearing away. And that was the only time Joker saw him. Any time previous it would definitely be a ‘no Bat is a good Bat’ situation but now, now no, everything was changed and different. Wasn’t it?

 

So after a week the good mood was wearing down and Joker leaned on the bathroom sink, staring at himself for a long moment before making a snap decision, stepping out of the bathroom only in dark purple slacks. “Harley, dear, how would you feel about a road trip to Metropolis?”

 

“Really shug?” She looked up from her tablet, sitting on the floor with the hyenas.

 

“Yeah, really. I know there’s stores there you’ve just been _dying_ to shop at, and I did some snooping. Would you believe we don’t have any warrants for our arrest in Metropolis? At all?”

 

She grinned at him. “Wanna fix that puddin?”

 

He made a face. “Maybe someday. I was thinking more about just a night out on the town. And if I have the opportunity I might break my hand on Superman’s face.”

 

“Aw, puddin.” She stood, setting the tablet aside. “Do you want to go casual like? I have temporary dye.”

 

One of his green curls was in his face and he flicked it away. “No. I’m fine with them knowing who we are, but, I’d like you to go be able to go back to those shops so we’re going to behave like people and pay for our goods.”

 

She was surprised. “Oh! An actual shopping trip!” She skipped over and happily tossed her arms around him, and he lifted her as she kicked her feet.

 

“We will have to dress somewhat normally though. That’s irritating enough.” He sniffed.

 

“I’ll pick us out some outfits!”

 

* * *

 

The purple Lamborghini drank gas and shit horsepower, and while it wasn’t exactly the typical road trip vehicle, it was beneath the Joker to arrive anywhere without making a statement. And in the bright shiny city of Metropolis, the vehicle’s private plate might as well have been shouting who they were at everyone. Joker had sunglasses on and saw cops slow down and stare, and he only afforded them a grin and a nod. _Yeah assholes. Here I am_. _What are you going to do about it?_ But he’s a well-behaved boy because he can’t have the Bat’s entire team of weirdos on his ass, oh no, and takes Harley to all the shops that she’d seen commercials for. Her glee is almost worth the long-ass boring drive.

 

The explosions are _definitely_ worth that long-ass boring drive.

 

“What’s going on Mr. J?” They’re standing in the parking lot and he’s shading his eyes, squinting toward the explosions and smoke. In Gotham they’d almost blend, in this god damn Stepford-Wife hell city it’s like a shotgun wound to a person’s chest.

 

“Let’s go find out. Do we have anything fun in the trunk, baby?”

 

She grinned at him. “Do ya really need to ask Mr. J?”

 

The bags of purchases were moved and the false bottom of the trunk pulled, and in broad daylight in a parking lot he removed a rifle and a rocket propelled grenade launcher, grinning and moving to get into the passenger seat. Harley did a burnout getting out of the parking lot, driving toward the fight and dodging cop barricades, eventually spinning the wheel and sending the tires skidding and skipping. The details, Joker figured, weren’t important because the fight bored him to tears immediately. Yeah it was nice to see a little bit of destruction and chaos here but of course, of _fucking_ course it looks like mass-produced robots with Superman and two others trying to wrangle them.

 

Superman and company are _very_ clearly not expecting assistance to arrive in the favor of him cheerfully half out the window of the lambo, RPG on this shoulder, opening fire. The shot takes out a robot that had gotten behind Supes, and the battlefield screeched to a halt to reorient on him. He offered the robots a middle finger, which was just a long enough distraction for Superman to abruptly end the fight. Then it was quiet except for distant sirens and the idling engine of the lambo, until a red blur skidded up then backed away from him.

 

“Wait, wait holy shit, holy shit you’re the Joker.”

 

“You. Don’t. SAY.” He tossed the RPG aside and climbed the rest of the way from the lambo. God damn tiny ass supercar windows, not his most dignified exit, but his dress shoes hit the rubble-strewn street and he walked easily by the Flash, ignoring him and focusing on Superman, holding his hands up. “You’re a surprisingly hard man. Being? Whatever you are. To find. You, me, five minutes.”

 

“For what, a fight?” Superman looked completely nonplussed and was floating about a foot off the ground. Showoff prick.

 

“No, a talk, look at me, do I have a single weapon on me that can hurt you?” Joker scoffed.

 

Superman landed lightly. “What are you doing in Metropolis, Joker?”

 

“Oh, you know. Shopping. You should see the dress Harley got, just, her ass is going to make people cry.” He made a chef’s-kiss gesture.

 

“What the fuck.” A guy in green looked around Superman. Joker decided, immediately, he wasn’t worth any time.

 

“Seriously, five minutes.” Joker kicked the leftovers of a robot, disgusted. “Even your villains are horrid. Is there anything about this town that isn’t mass produced and plastic wrapped?”

 

“Fine.” Superman decided, and followed him about twenty feet further away from the rest of the Justice League members. “Did you come here to talk to me?”

 

“Well, I hoped you were at this little shindig but I didn’t think I’d get lucky enough to see you on this trip, no, how could I know that?” Joker wanted to know a bit petulantly. “I want to talk to you about the Bat.”

 

Superman’s expression got wary. “I’m aware that you and he have a history.”

 

“Oh you don’t even know, you cannot begin to comprehend.” He tutted, waving an arm in dismissal. “Which is my point. He and I have a history. You and he don’t. So do me a favor and stay away from him.”

 

“I beg your pardon.”

 

“Not given. He’s mine. Capiche?”

 

Superman just stared at him a moment, absorbing details, like the fact that the green hair was entirely natural, as was the ghost white skin, and that the Joker was deadly, absolutely straight-faced serious. “Somehow, I’m not sure he’d agree with you.”

 

That earned a sneer of derision. “Oh, he knows. Now, one other thing if you don’t mind?”

 

“What?”

 

“Settle a bet for me, nothing big. What’s in your pants? Is it actually a dick or tentacles or what?” He didn’t even flinch when the front of shirt was grabbed and he was lifted a foot off the ground, just rolled his eyes and folded his arms on top of Superman’s arm, propping his chin on one palm. “Wow, touchy, you really aren’t getting laid recently are you. Come on, I have twenty bucks on this.” That got him tossed and he bounced off the side of the lambo with a cheerful laugh. “Ow! Damn, so touchy.”

“You okay pud?” Harley poked her head out the window, looking down at him.

 

“I think our bet is going unanswered, dollface.” He hefted himself up and made a show out of dusting himself off, looking at the three Justice League members. “Such hospitality. Tch. Well, we’ll leave you to it, we have a dinner reservation.” And he turned his back, taking the driver’s seat and burning rubber away.

 

* * *

 

Three days after the trip to Metropolis, Batman caught up with the Joker.

 

Which made for ten days since their kiss, and the Joker was starting to feel a bit bitter about the whole thing. Which is why he was in Penguin’s fine establishment having a drink at the bar when he heard the Bat come in. Batman’s arrival always sent a ripple of quiet out before everyone just dealt with it, the usual suspects greeting Batman mildly. The Bat knew the rules of the place and had always respected them, which meant everyone else was typically inclined to keep to the rules themselves and not try to kill him.

 

“Joker. We need to talk.”

 

He considered, holding the tumbler and side-eying the Bat before nodding. “Well, come on, let’s find some thinking room.” He downed the drink and set the glass down before cutting through the bar, taking the stairs upwards two at a time and opening the door to a VIP suite. “Out.” That got the gang members and the tits of the day moving, all of them brushing past Batman. Joker sat on the dance stage, straddling the chair backwards and lifting an eyebrow. “Now. What’s the occasion.”

 

“You were in Metropolis a few days ago.”

 

“Old news. I didn’t even break any major laws and paid for all my purchases like a law-abiding citizen. How does anyone stand living there, it’s terrible.” Joker sniffed.

 

“Well, if you’d kept it to that I might have ignored it.”

 

“Really?” He tipped his head.

 

“Not worth my time.” Bats deadpanned, stepping over and grabbing the back of another chair, moving it before sitting down and looking at him.

 

The sheer ridiculousness of the situation made Joker giggle. The Bat looked ridiculous in a strip club chair. He wondered, idly, if there was a Bat-wallet and it had singles in it. Wouldn’t that be fun? “Ah, so it was me speaking to the caped wonder that is the reason for this little meeting?”

 

“Well, if you wanted to confuse Superman, you win.”

 

“I didn’t want to confuse him. I wanted him to stay the hell away from you.”

 

“He’s…” Batman hesitated. “A friend.”

 

Joker stared at him openly. “Wow.”

 

“An ally?”

 

“Wow.” He rubbed his face with a gloved hand and laughed hysterically. “You are off your game tonight Batsy, is it because of little ole me?”

 

“Superman and I have had disagreements in the past but they’ve been resolved.” Batman’s expression was a little pinched and his gaze disapproving. “The point is, I don’t need you doing this shit.”

 

“Ohhh how blunt. None of this has been about what you need.” He paused, and just looked at him again. Maybe sitting in that wall of Kevlar was difficult because the Bat was sprawled and even if he didn’t know it, looked _very_ inviting. “Or maybe, maybe it is.”

 

“You are being even more obtuse than normal.” He huffed and sat up a bit, waving a gloved hand. “Maybe this was a mistake…”

 

The Joker didn’t let him get further, knocking over the chair he was on as he stood in favor of leaning off the stage, hands planting on those armored shoulders as he loomed over him and crashed their mouths together. The Bat startled then went still and accepting, and he had to shove, insistent to get it returned, purring when heavy-gloved hands grasped at his lapels. Then he was being shoved back and he didn’t let his balance get thrown, just stood up again, glaring down at him. “You’re mine, don’t you get that? _Mine._ And I don’t share, especially with some alien upstart who hasn’t had a fraction of the time that I’ve had.”

 

“Do you need a key for that.”

 

Joker blinked before looking where Batman was gesturing, at the single cuff still loosely on one wrist. “Of course I don’t, you cuffed my other arm remember? I switched it.”

 

“Of course.” Batman sighed and stood. “Well, should I just be glad you didn’t kiss Superman as well?”

 

Joker was honest-to-everything appalled. “Ew. No. Not my type. He was probably on the chess club or something.”

 

The faintest smile broke across the Bat’s face. “I was on the chess club.”

 

The wonder of making the Bat smile was shattered by that statement and he put a hand on his chest. “Oh my fuck I have to go evaluate my entire life now, how dare you.”

 

Batman was gone in a swirl of his cape, and Joker could have sworn he was laughing as he left, but that had to be his imagination.

 

* * *

 

“Baby. SNOOKEMS. He was on the chess club!” Joker was sprawled in a chair across Harley’s lap like a perverse La Pieta, pouting, his tie open and his shirt half-unbuttoned. “I want to fuck someone who was on the chess club. Why. Why is my life like this? This is so unfair.”

 

“You need a haircut, puddin.” She stroked a hand through his messy hair. “You have ringlets. And really, this is progress. You’re actually admitting you want to fuck the Bat. Besides, why are you shocked he was on the chess club? He’s rich right. He was a preppy kid. Of course he was.”

 

He pouted and didn’t move, letting her rearrange his green curls. As it grew natural highlights had appeared, shocking bits of Kelly green and lime shading in through the forest green at the roots. “No, I just had my nails done to match.” They’d gotten mani-pedis while in Metropolis. Couples bonding time and he had to admit, his nails looked _spectacular._ “And everyone wants to fuck the Bat, I’m not special.”

 

“I don’t.” Harley popped her gum. “I’ve got you and Ivy, pud. That’s enough.”

 

His head had been somewhat dramatically tipped back, and he pulled it up and that comment, blinking at her twice. “ _Well_.”

 

“And we’re not talkin’ about everyone else, we’re talking about you.”

 

“Well. We were actually talking about the Bat and his being in chess club.” He let his head fall back again, not reacting when her fingers tickled the bare V of his chest that showed. “I made him smile. He actually smiled.” And that was exciting, more than it should have been. Maybe this really was an obsession.

 

“Batsy can smile?”

 

“YES! I know, right? And it wasn’t the sardonic Bruce Wayne smile, it was _real._ ” He sighed.

 

“You never did tell me how you figured out who he is.”

 

“I feel like that’s a secret I have to guard. If it got out, outside of us, it wouldn’t be fun.” He admitted after a beat. “I mean, I can’t use that information. Bruce Wayne is a _persona_ , something he puts on to fake around and keep money in the bank, I think. Batman is real. Batman is who I want. Fucking up Bruce Wayne’s life will just undermine everything I want.”

 

She hummed, fingers still tickling gently over his skin. “That’s actually really thought out.”

 

“I don’t want to ruin the game.” He mumbled as her hand slid up to caress over his throat, lingering at his adam’s apple. “I mean, it’s half the reason I get up in the morning sometimes. You know, he was almost nice today. Do you think it’s because I’m behaving?”

 

She chewed her gum, considering his sprawled figure as she traced his jawline. “I can’t guess at his reasoning, shug. Who knows how the Bat’s mind works?”

 

“Me.”

 

She didn’t try to argue that.

 

“But, I did just tell him he’s mine and he didn’t react. He ignored it. Like he didn’t hear it. What the fuck, baby?” Now he’s whining.

 

“Well, he might think you’re joking. To be fair, you have a long history of not being honest with him. Maybe you need to make an overture.”

 

He blinked, letting out a slow breath as her fingers traced over his throat again. “Huh. You know what, dollface? Maybe I could do with another tattoo.”

 

* * *

 

Joker had a consistent tattoo artist. Yeah he’s scribbled with a tattoo gun before but when he wants statement pieces, ART, he’s got someone who does the work, who does a lot of work of the criminal element of the city and is used to working with people who have… unusual tastes and bodily circumstances.

 

So it’s inside a few hours that Joker has a new piece all wrapped up neat on the inner wrist of his dominant hand, placed just so that when he draws a gun and his sleeve is pushed back it’ll be nice and obvious, a brand. It’s the Bat symbol in negative, his pale skin the symbol with shaded clouds behind it to bring it in relief. So the symbol is light. He likes it. It’s _perfect_ , the exact opposite of what most people get when they get Bat symbols tattooed, which is just, ridiculously popular in Gotham. Joker symbols are too but they’re hard to get, as it’s associated with his gang and edgy teenagers. A Joker tattoo is almost a for-cause reason to stop someone on the street. Almost. The cops aren’t that terrible, yet.

 

But when he gets home he takes the lovely bandaging off and has Harley take a photo of him, with his favorite ridiculously blinged out gun, arm extended so the fresh tattoo shows, body pivoted away. He’s grinning, and the photo actually caught the muzzle flare across his face and chest. It’s fantastic and he updated his twitter account with a new banner at the top, using that photo, then kicked back to watch the fallout as people noticed that.

 

And yeah, people notice. Fucking half of Gotham follows him on twitter. He’s _verified_. He uses it to put out when he’s got new street drugs about to hit, and to just generally be the giant, absolute prick that he is. Currently his pinned tweet is video Harley took of him stripping in a club he crashed to _Cry Little Sister_ as covered by Manson, and all his recent tweets are from his trip to Metropolis. A news story that the headline was ‘Joker comes to Metropolis, shops, eats dinner, leaves. Cops confused.’ Selfies from the nail salon and some of the stores.

 

And his DMs are open. Usually it’s people asking about drugs or asking if they can fuck him, but within five minutes of updating his banner he gets a DM from a god damn reporter in Metropolis, the one that had wrote the story.

 

“Babydoll. Does the name Clark Kent mean anything to you?” He asked. He’d finally cleaned the sugar off his battlestation.

 

“Should it baby?” She was playing with the hyenas.

 

“Probably not. He’s some reporter in Metropolis.” He picked at the takeout she’d gotten him, staring at Reporter McGlasses’ profile before clicking to reply to the DM. It was asking why he’d gotten the tattoo. He shrugged, and answered honestly: because Batman branded everything he owned. Old news, and yes this is on record so feel free to quote him directly or not at all. “Baby. What’s the silliest bat accessory you can think of?”

 

“Bat Water Cooler.” She decided.

 

“Batpoles.”

 

“Like a stripper pole?”

 

He considered. “I think the cape would tangle up around it. Like a firepole. You don’t think he climbs stairs from the manor to the cave?”

 

“For all I know he shapeshifts and flies down himself, pud.”

 

He allowed the point as he wrapped his wrist back up. He forgot to eat most days but tattoo care was never, ever optional.

 

* * *

 

The next weeks dragged by in a rut until the Joker was crawling out of his skin, mania giving away to tense snapping anger. Harley never took it personal, and she knew that it wasn’t about her anyway. She just stayed out of his way and tried to get him to eat as he sulked. Maybe he was too optimistic. He thought he’d have gotten his point across, by now. But no. The Bat didn’t come looking for him. No vigilante hero did, and after some initial fervor, his tattoo made little public impact. And even worse, business was GOOD at the same time his mood was bad, meaning there were less people to smash up. No problems to fix.

 

He was strongly considering a plan involving firebombing a city building when he realized, with a jolt, that he hadn’t seen Batman in three weeks solid. And putting the question out returned an answer: no one else had either. And suddenly his rage took a turn and an ugly question arose: who the FUCK had hurt the Bat badly enough to remove him from action? Because Bruce Wayne appeared to still be in town and going to work, though not doing anything harder than walking.

 

And the internet’s full of creepers who keep tabs on all the inaptly-named Justice League, and he’s able to scroll through conflicts and finds something about Lex Luthor, and his desire to firebomb something honed down hot and fierce.

 

Apparently, he’s an asshole billionaire politician that’s somehow skating the law and just hasn’t been cuffed, in spite of repeatedly building things to pick a fight. And he’s gunning for Superman, which means one of his fancy little toys scored a hit on Batman. The grainy night footage sends something ugly and passionate shooting through the Joker, something like possessiveness and jealousy and rage, all piled together into a teeth-bared snarl-grin.

 

Road trip it is.

 

Half a dozen Luthor facilities go up in the night, in neon green unnatural flame. There’s next to no collateral damage, it’s surgical work. Precise. Some of his best. He’d even pulled the fire alarms to trigger the evacuation of the guards before the party started.

 

Luthor was prepared for a LOT of things, but clearly, not prepared for the Joker.

 

He’s watching from a distance, sitting on the Lambo and eating popcorn when the air whistle-snaps around him then Superman gently drifts down, into his line of sight, just staring. He stared back before offering the bowl.

 

“Explain.”

 

“No please?” He munched, and when Superman’s eyes narrowed, he huffed. “He touched what’s mine. I think this makes it abundantly clear what happens when someone does that. No one’s dead and he’s got insurance. Let it burn.”

 

There was a long, long silence, Superman looking toward the blaze before back to the Joker. “Get the hell out of Metropolis, and please don’t come back.”

 

“Or you’ll what? Arrest me for arson?” At the look, he straightened up. “Fine. Spoilsport. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me so don’t wait up.”

 

Superman watched him drive away, and probably followed him for some of it. Joker decided it wasn’t worth caring about, and hoped that Bruce Wayne happened to be watching the news. This was a very expensive gift, after all.

 

* * *

 

The drive back made the Joker appreciate the distance between Gotham and Metropolis. He’d hardly noticed it on the trip with Harley, but he was now weary from the night’s activities. This was just one of the many reasons why he stuck to Gotham. Still, that didn’t put a dent in his deep satisfaction, or his imagining the look on the Bat’s face when he saw the news and realized that the Joker had retaliated for him.

 

The sun was just barely starting to show when he pulled into a truck stop. His jacket was long since discarded to the passenger seat and his sleeves were cuffed, but he still rendered the employees and handful of customers silent as he walked in. He ignored it, peeled forty bucks off a pile of cash for pump three, and went back out to fill the lambo’s tank.

 

He still smells like smoke, and jokerfire, and the smell of gasoline just made him smile, leaning on the sportscar with his head lolled back and his eyes shut.

 

“Hey, faggot!”

 

It took him a moment to realize that someone might be dumb enough to yell that at him, and he blinked his eyes open and looked toward the disturbance. Ah. Three country bumpkins in a pickup. “You should all count yourselves lucky that I am in a _very_ good mood. Shut the fuck up before that changes.”

 

The one by the driver’s door looked pissed, passenger seat echoed it, back seat was peering at him then at his phone. “Nice costume. Do you dress like the Riddle on the weekends?”

 

“I think it’s ‘The Riddler’.” Passenger seat told him.

 

“Guys. That might actually be him.” Back seat said. “He’s a spitting image. Car, tattoo, hair…”

 

“This far outside Gotham?” Passenger seat got out of the truck.

 

Joker finished filling the tank, hanging the pump handle back up and closing the gas cap, ignoring them in favor of going back inside. Bathroom and an energy drink later, he looked at the cashier seriously. “Call the cops.”

 

“Uh, why?” The cashier was dead-eyed tired and seemed to think he was the least strange thing that day.

 

“Because if they’ve touched my car, it’s going to be a massacre.” He left it at that, striding out, free hand going to the small of his back and pulling his gun as he moved. “Back the fuck up. Only warning.”

 

Driver’s seat was at the front of the lambo, one foot propped on the front bumper, arguing with passenger seat. The sight of the blinged-out gun made them jump, then driver’s seat laughed. “Wow, sweetheart, who bedazzled your gun?”

 

Joker pulled the trigger, the gun kicking as he the shot zipped between them and into the engine of the truck, which gushed fluids in response. The crack of the gunshot made them stagger away and cover their ears. He used that to get in, starting the lambo and burning rubber, leaving them staring at the dead truck while back seat screamed at them.

 

* * *

 

It was well past dawn by the time he fell into bed, his suit littered from the door to the bedroom. Sleep came immediately, deep and still, not rousing until it was almost dark again.

 

“Morning puddin!” Greeted him as he walked into the kitchen wearing only a towel across one shoulder. “You’ve got a new warrant out!”

 

“What for?” He poured himself coffee, jumping and giggling when she pinched his bare ass.

 

“Brandishing a weapon and destruction of property.” She hooked her chin over his shoulder. “Didja actually shoot a truck?”

 

“I shot a truck. Nothing about the fires?”

 

“You’re a ‘person of interest.’” She goosed him. “Why didn’t you take me with? You know I love a good light show.”

 

“It was a bit impulsive, doll, I only stopped long enough to grab supplies.” He drank half the mug greedily and refilled it. “How was the news footage of it?”

 

“Beautiful, Mr. J. The ‘J was here’ on the lawn was a great touch.”

 

“I thought about doing a bat sign but I thought Luthor would try to implicate him if I did.” He turned to lean back on the counter. The kitchen was mostly black and cherry wood, making his pale nudity even more vulgar. “Luthor went after Superman a few weeks ago. Hurt the Bat in the process. I couldn’t stand for that shit.”

 

“I know. You left your computer logged in.” She gave him a fond look. She was wearing her new jewelry over daisy dukes and a t-shirt that said ‘Joker’s Wild Thing.’ “It’s quite the present for the Bat.”

 

“Aw, don’t look at me like that I’ve given you plenty of nice presents.” He kissed her temple.

 

“I just hope he appreciates it.”

 

“So do I. I’m going out tonight sugar. Do my rounds, see how the most recent pharmaceuticals have sold so far.”

 

“No sign of the bat last night, Mr. J.”

 

He grinned at her, taking his coffee with him to the bedroom. “You know, I think he’ll be out tonight.”

 

* * *

 

Some minor strong-arming of his dealers, a frank talk with his chemists, and a raucous trip to Penguin’s later (no one knew why he’d gone after Luthor, but they were into it anyway, Gotham first etc), the Joker was pacing rooftops. He didn’t have the hookshot, or cape, but he had a circuit he did, where could jump roof to roof with practiced precision. It’s almost meditative, listening to the city as he moved, and waiting for the telltale sounds that he had company. It’s close to three AM when he saw the silhouette, then the Batman landed on the roof beside him, taking a moment before straightening to full height.

 

“Long time no see. Please, don’t tear your stitches on my account.” Joker exhaled a CBD cloud before putting the vape away, walking over. “Did you like your present?”

 

Batman tipped his head slightly. “To be clear, are you referring to the fires at LexCorp as a present to me?”

 

“You don’t seem like a flowers and get-well-soon card sort. Yes. I thought you’d appreciate someone doing a little retaliation.” Joker grinned, fierce and proud.

 

“I want to be mad about this.” Batman was begrudging. “But, no one was killed, the only injuries were minor burns, and it appears Luthor was insured so he’ll lose money, but…”

 

“I told you. I can be excellent for you.”

 

“Perhaps flowers next time.”

 

Joker shrugged. “At your home or your office?” He barely got that out before he was grabbed, back slammed against a wall. He grunted and stayed put, letting the Bat pin him with an arm across the collar bone, the spikes of the armor on his forearm touching his throat. “Relax, Bruce, I’ve known your civilian identity since about two months after our first fight. I just don’t care. Why would I?”

 

The silver-white eye slits widened, then narrowed. For not the first time, Joker wondered about the mechanism, it really was uncanny. “You don’t care about information that could ruin me.” It’s a low, dangerous statement, the voice going right to the Joker’s groin.

 

Joker rolled his eyes, swallowing just to feel the armor spikes scrape. “No. There’s no fun in that.”

 

“Explain.”

 

“Bruce Wayne isn’t real. _He’s_ the mask you put on. This right now is real. _This is who you are_ , and who _I want_. Fucking up Wayne’s life doesn’t help me get to you. In fact it does the god damn opposite. So why would I bother?”

 

Batman blinked, expression stony and gaze studying Joker’s face, looking for a lie. Joker stared back, absorbing the almost-peace of the moment. Then Batman’s arm moved in favor of grabbing both his wrists and jerking them up above his head, pressing them to the wall. He didn’t have time to demand what the fuck before the Bat’s mouth was on his, hard and demanding. Joker’s eyes flew wide before he shoved into it, giving as good as he got, eyes shutting as the cape and the Bat’s body blocked away most of the world. None of which was as interesting as this kiss anyway, hungry and biting and absolute perfection. Batman adjusted and pinned his wrists with one gloved hand, other hand moving to cup along his jaw, the Kevlar and armor points scraping as one heavy armored thigh nudged between his legs, and Joker thought he might die just a bit, right here, whining as he pressed into the contact.

 

The kiss broke and they stared at each other, Batman’s hands tightening slightly on his wrists. “Your hands stay there.”

 

“Not feeling the trust right now.” Joker would have been flushed, if that was something he could even do, then jolted when Batman braced an arm on the wall for a beat and used that to go down on one knee. “Ah. Nevermind. Okay.” He laced his gloved hands together on top of his head.

 

The laugh that came out of Batman was startled and rusty-sounding, shoulders jumping with it even as the armored hands set about getting Joker’s belt and pants open, one thumb rubbing down his trapped length as he did. “You’re going to behave?”

 

“Inversely to the amount you tease me.” Joker decided, even though he was shaking with anticipation because, honestly, okay, Batman down on his knees with his cape pooled around him was absolutely mind-blowingly hot. He’ll never be able to see Batman landing in a crouch as anything but sexual ever again. “Ah fuck I want a picture of you like this so bad.”

 

That got him squeezed, the Kevlar and leather strange but good on his bare skin. “No.”

 

“Obviously not…!” His head banged back against the wall a bit too hard for his own good as he was abruptly swallowed down with zero warning or prelude, fingers digging into his own scalp reflexively as he arched until his hips were shoved against the wall. “Fuck! Yes okay I’ll be good I’ll be excellent if I go burn down the rest of Luthor’s company can we do this again tomorrow?!”

 

That got his ass swatted, a low laugh rising again from Batman’s kneeling form even as his throat neatly wrapped around the head of Joker’s cock and he may have seen stars for a second. Harley’s no slouch at this, hell they wouldn’t have lasted half this long if they weren’t good at fucking each other’s brains out somewhat often but this is the culmination of a fantasy that had never entirely occurred to him. He’ll apologize to Harley later. Maybe she’d congratulate him, who knows?

 

Batman, in past fights, has picked up and thrown him one handed. It’s a very similar sensation when Batman bodily hauls his orgasm out of him, controlling him and setting off every button and in spite of his best efforts he ended up curled over him, hands gripping the pointed ears of the cowl, a constant stream of praise and filth coming out of his mouth and half of it’s probably ridiculous but he’s not poetic in the best states, let alone when he’s having one of the best climaxes of his life gut punched out of him. And now he won’t be able to look at Batman at all without remembering clutching his cowl.

 

“If.. the point of this… was for me to have a pavlovian arousal response to your suit…” He panted out as he came down, grabbing onto Batman’s shoulders when he stood. “Also if you’re not taking me home and fucking me I’m finding a different target to burn.”

 

A gloved finger was set to his lips. “Let’s be clear. Don’t use violence to try to threaten me into repeat performances because that’ll guarantee it’ll never happen again.” Batman’s voice was rough, lust or deep throating Joker had no idea but either way, it’s fantastic.

 

“…Fair. That’s fair. Still insisting on you fucking me. We’ve been doing foreplay for actual years now please take me somewhere hell fuck me right here I don’t care anymore.” Joker’s eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re a dick.”

 

“It would seem my dick is a point of contention.”

 

“Hey. I’m the fucking clown here.”

 

“No, you want to be a fucked clown.” At some point during this exchange he’d fixed Joker’s clothes. How, Joker had no idea. Possibly it was magic.

 

“I.” He had to pause. “When did you get a sense of humor. I actually like it. This is horrifying. Why do you keep changing my worldview. Why do I still want to fuck you in spite of it?!”

 

“Because you make horrible life choices. Come on.” He tugged Joker to the roof edge. “Hold onto me.”

 

“You’re held together with stitches and about to throw yourself off a roof carrying me.” Joker deadpanned, but threw his arms over Batman’s shoulders and hung on for dear life as the hookshot deployed.

 

Batman didn’t reply but his eyeroll was nearly audible, and they went over the edge.

 

* * *

 

Joker had been aware that Bruce Wayne kept a penthouse in uptown, under an assumed name because it’s part of the playboy persona. He’s always considered it bizarre, but then, Batman has a number of places to hide throughout the city. Perhaps it’s just as well the mask gets at least one. He has a new appreciation of Batman’s main mode of travel when their feet hit the roof then Batman just turned and stepped off, landing on a balcony and letting himself into the apartment.

 

“That. Wow.” Joker leaned on his knees and waited for the dizziness and vertigo to pass. “No offense but I’ll stick to my lambo.”

 

Batman laughed and pulled the cowl off, and Joker stared because that was… disconcerting. Like watching someone remove their face in a way, the sudden reveal of Bruce Wayne, but… not quite, the rest of the Bat very much in evidence including the voice. “I’ve watched you leap off buildings but you can’t handle the grapple?”

 

“Fuck you very much.” He straightened up and looked around. After a moment he blinked and slowly walked the apartment, aware that Batman was following him. It’s in the kitchen that he makes a conclusion and laughs loudly, looking at the other man. “Our apartments have the same architect. It’s an identical layout. You’ve just never decorated.” He flicked a dismissive hand at how neutral-posh the entire place was.

 

“I keep the black to Batman.” He half smiled.

 

“Ugh. Of course.” He took two steps and rocked up on his toes, one hand digging into the front of the Bat’s armor to steady himself. “So. You eager to throw me into a bed where you mostly bang models and starlets?” That got him shoved hard into a wall and he stayed there, arms draping Batman’s still-caped shoulders as they kissed. It’s still excellent, though he can feel a little bit of a jitter running through the much larger man and he had to take a moment to consider that the injury might be much worse than he thought. He broke the kiss to peer at him, and his … dime sized pupils. “Oxy?”

 

Batman jerked a bit. “…Vicodin.” He admitted.

 

“Suddenly your humor makes sense. You’re high as a fucking kite aren’t you?!” Joker’s actually kind of delighted. The Bat is high, holy shit. “And, you really want to fuck me up this wall but your injury won’t let you.”

 

“Yes.” Now he just sounded begrudging.

 

“Well. Rain check. Take me to your bedroom and explain to me how to peel all this armor off. Come on.” He smacked Batman’s ass, and hissed, shaking out his hand. “Is that armor or is that your ass?”

 

Batman laughed and headed for the bedroom, simply trusting the Joker to follow. And of course he did. It wasn’t even a question.

 

The process of getting Batman out of the armor was involved. It’s apparent that he could do it in almost no time at all, but he’s taking the time to show Joker how it’s done, where all the hidden catches and zippers and buckles are. And it’s almost a kind of striptease, stripping away each bit and layer of the Bat to reveal skin. It’s also revealing Bruce Wayne, but he’s not there, not really, the eyes and face watching him are unmasked figuratively and literally: this is still Batman. Just who Joker wants.

 

Eventually he’s kneeling and help peel away leg armor and he goes still when the spread of the wound is revealed, a nasty line of stitches bordered by burned, healing skin that goes up his thigh to his torso, coming dangerously close to not only causing organ damage but taking Batman’s junk with it. Rage bubbles up and hisses in his throat but a battered boxer’s hand stroking his hair calmed it again.

 

“The Justice League has a good medical ward. I spent two days there then transferred back to Alfred’s care.” Batman said carefully. “I’ve had worse.”

 

“I’m going to burn down the rest of Luthor’s shit. Just as a start.” Joker replied, feeling like acid is crawling through his body again and shuddering, shutting his eyes when the Bat’s other hand came down, cupping his face and stroking under his eyes gently.

 

“Your defense of me is interesting.”

 

“He has his own hero to squabble with. You’re mine.”

 

“I am a fan of the tattoo.”

 

He opened his eyes, looking up at him. “Really?” He surged back to his feet, pressing up to his chest and oofing one of those hands tangled into his hair and pulled a little and just like that, he’s never cutting his god damn hair ever again.

 

“I had been wondering what you were playing at, but what you said on the roof nicely framed it in.”

 

Joker rolled his eyes. “Why is it so hard to understand that I want to have sex with you.”

 

“We have been trying to kill each other.” Now that he knows that Batman’s on Vicodin he can hear the drawl in his voice, a semi-sarcastic twinge but something else too.

 

“Neither of us are up for normal foreplay.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and threw it across the room, the vest following in short order. “Now. You tell me. What are you up to, because if I reopen this wound during this I will stab Luthor in broad daylight and let you explain why I did it.”

 

This led directly to him on his knees, chest pressed to the bed and his arms stretched out in front of him, gripping into the covers. His makeup was smudged onto Bruce Wayne’s expensive sheets as he muffled his whimpers, and one of the Bat’s hands was tangled into his hair, keeping him right where he is. The other hand wanders, stroking over him, tracing bone lines, finding nearly invisible scars. This was… a pleasant surprise? Maybe? He thought dizzily to himself. The Bat was slow, almost tender, taking his time in fucking the Joker until his brain melted out his ears in the best way. He’d always seen this as being violent if it happened. An extension of their fighting. Maybe it’s because the Bat is hurt and high?

 

But it’s not worth considering. Not when he’s got his own back bent in supplication and knows, damn well, that he looks amazing on these dark blue expensive sheets. He groaned, tried to arch further, and yelped when the Bat’s gripped in his hair tugged, pulling his head back then forcing him up until he’s kneeling. The angle change combined with their height difference made him keen, squirming as he settled back against the Bat’s chest. He twisted and met the kiss over his own shoulder, which was sloppy and awkward and wonderful, reaching one of his hands back to grip along the Bat’s jaw.

 

“Couldn’t see your face.” It was a murmur against his lips.

 

“So, ah. _Sentimental._ Next time you’re fucking me in the suit.” He panted out.

 

He felt the smirk against his neck. “Who says there isn’t a round two in store for you tonight?”

 

He blinked then laughed out loud, enjoying the cursing that earned as his muscles clenched down with it. “Are you saying that, ahFUCK, you don’t want to do this while suited up?” He took the bite to his neck as a yes, most definitely, then his mind blanked because the Bat gripped his hips and lifted, taking his knees off the bed and his balance with it, his whole bodyweight meeting a burst of hard staccato thrusts that was more than enough to push him over the edge.

 

The Joker ended up on his hands and knees panting after, shivering as he came down, giggling high and dopey because, hey. Hands free orgasm. That was a nice and rare occurrence. Batman was slouched over him, braced on one shoulder and panting.

 

“You didn’t hurt yourself with that little display, did you?” He grumbled. Speaking of sentimental.

 

“No.” He pulled back slow and sat down slowly as Joker just let himself flop sideways and sprawl. “Stay put, I’m getting a washcloth.”

 

He waved it off and let his eyes slide shut, turning his face into the bed and trying to absorb the scent of the sheets. He’ll have to leave, of course, and he’ll strut and smile his whole walk home, but he still wants to remember every detail and lets his weird prickly senses absorb it to his bones.

 

Then a warm washcloth is wiping him down and he snickered, lolling around as necessary then letting out a surprised whup as the soiled sheet is yoinked out from under him like a parlor trick. “That was impressive.”

 

“I don’t believe in sleeping on the wet spot. Come here.” He tugged Joker into his lap, a makeup wipe starting to do away with what was left of the makeup.

 

“Harley buys me this brand.” He blinked a few times then shut his eyes, letting his eye makeup get wiped away.

 

“You know what coffee I drink, is this that much of a shock?”

 

He snickered. “Stalker.”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Are you always like this before kicking your dates out the door?”

 

“Who says I’m doing that?”

 

Joker flopped back to the bed, and watched the wipe and washcloth get dealt with, then the armor get picked up and wrangled away to some hidden closet. His suit was next, hanged up neatly, then the lights were shut off and the Bat was back in bed, happily manhandling him close. “Hey, hey. This is way too early to sleep.” His protest fell on deaf ears, in fact Batman rolled and sprawled on top of him with a sigh, shifting so not all of his weight is on him but, enough to make the point. And Joker really wanted to protest that too, but the Bat is warm and soothing and forces him to slowly relax, and eventually, fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

It's not the phone that woke the Joker, but the warm weight blanketing him suddenly moving away. He grunted his displeasure and slit one eye open, looking at the silhouette of … Well. Bruce Wayne, in the early morning light, talking on his phone.

 

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there, don’t worry. Thank you Alfred.” Bruce hung up and looked at him before coming over and perching on the side of the bed, brushing the Joker’s hair out of his face. “I have to get ready for work.”

 

“Don’t let me stop you.” He grumbled into the bed. “You know this can’t change anything, right?”

 

“I think it’s already changed a few things.”

 

He huffed and nodded, burying his face under one arm as Bruce moved away. When he was touched again, Bruce was showered, shaved and in a suit, tie open as he looked down at him with open curiosity.

 

“I won’t make you get up. I pressed your suit. The security cameras are angled so if you step out the door and head for the stairs you won’t be seen.”

 

“Do you tell most of your hookups to take the stairs?” He yawned. “Thanks.”

 

“No. You’re unique.” It’s said seriously then Bruce is leaning down and kissing him, slow and thorough and making him not care as much about the stairs. “And I don’t want you getting arrested on the way home.”

 

“That’s fair.” Joker shoved his hair out of his eyes then leaned up, kissing him hard and quick. “My name is Jack, by the way.”

 

“Jack.” Bruce repeated back.

 

“Do us both a favor and don’t retreat to your cave and do a search on every Jack in a whatever time period and whatever mile radius.” He rolled his eyes.

 

“No promises.” He laughed, and pressed a kiss to Joker’s hairline before standing and heading out the door.

 

Joker stared after him before flopping back, one hand going to where he’d been kissed, staring at the ceiling before laughing for quite some time.


End file.
